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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326194">Spilled Tea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTiger23/pseuds/OceanTiger23'>OceanTiger23</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(mild), Asexual Character, Enemies to Lovers, Everybody's a human maybe?, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Modern AU, Shenanigans, Trans Male Character, but also magic, fluff and some angst, ish, no beta we die like bertie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:41:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTiger23/pseuds/OceanTiger23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they meet, it's at a dinner party, and things...do not go well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Autumn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Working title: "Spilling drinks on each other Zamid AU." Tags subject to change!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time they meet, it’s at a dinner party, and things…do not go well.</p><p>Zolf isn’t entirely sure why he’s there. An invite from Wilde (who hasn’t shown, <em>thanks</em>), the promise of good food in exchange for polite small talk (a tradeoff he’s no longer entirely sure he’s happy to have made made), the vague sense that he should get out and actually do something social for once rather than sit on his couch in front of the TV, or curl up in bed with <em>When Passions Collide </em>for the umpteenth time.</p><p>He’s only somewhat used to feeling out of place with the patched and mended blue suit he’s owned for the last five or so years, around so many sharply dressed, clearly monied people, but the wine is good and the hors d’oeuvres are plenty, so at least there’s that.</p><p>The host, a gregarious man called Bertie who’s a bit of an idiot and more than a bit of an ass, is lumbering around the room, and so far, Zolf has been content to nibble and watch his painful interactions. That, and mentally compose the text he’ll be sending to Wilde later to thank him for the invite, demand where the hell he was, and to request that Wilde please never ask him to one of these things ever again.</p><p>Then a voice next to him, clear and mild, says, “He’s a good host, but he is a bit silly, isn’t he?”</p><p>Zolf turns. The voice belongs to a small, slight man with brown skin and curly black hair, in a deep green suit with bronze stitching. He’s impeccably put together, and when he turns with a fond smile, Zolf sees he’s put the same effort into an impeccable cat-eye and gold eyeshadow.</p><p>Across the room, Bertie backs into a woman in a long, ribbed dress, causing her to spill her champagne onto a nearby spider plant.</p><p>“A bit, yeah,” Zolf agrees. “D’you, uh…find yourself at these things often?”</p><p>The man shrugs and sips his own champagne. “Occasionally, yes. I rarely know what to say at these things, though.” He offers a manicured hand, with matching gold nail polish. “I’m Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan. He/him.”</p><p>Zolf doesn’t comment on the oddly formal greeting and accepts it. “Zolf Smith. Er—me too. He/him, that is.”</p><p>Hamid smiles. “It is a bid awkward. I feel a bit out of place—Bertie’s friends are…well. They’re an interesting crowd.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Zolf surveys the room, observing the swirling of suits and gowns. “Honestly, I’d rather be home with a Harrison Campbell right now.”</p><p>Hamid then lets out a derisive laugh into his champagne glass, and Zolf feels the sharp stab of anxiety straight into his gut. One of them has just committed a serious faux pas, and in these circles, Zolf is probably the one who’s just committed it.</p><p>Well. Fuck that.</p><p>Zolf’s expression must be as stormy as he feels because Hamid looks up, and the conspiratorial amusement on his beautifully made-up face quickly turns to something along the lines of <em>oh fuck.</em></p><p>"O-oh—” he stutters, “—are you a fan of—?”</p><p>Zolf’s face is hot with anger and discomfort now. “Not all of us can afford to be—educated—” He wishes he had a better word; this comeback is pathetic, “—out of a love of low literature, <em>Mr. al-Tahan</em>,” he snaps. With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away.</p><p>He spends much of the rest of the party grumbling in a corner and texting Wilde, who is sympathetic enough but <em>still </em>isn’t showing up. (“<em>Urgent business, sorry to abandon you to the wolves!”</em>) Wolves. Feels accurate.</p><p>Eventually he decides he’s had enough, and the food is no longer worth it, and he heads to the coat rack…where Hamid is mid-argument with a petite woman in a shimmering silver dress.</p><p>Great.</p><p>He tries to ignore what’s clearly some kind of lovers’ spat, or maybe ex-lovers spat, by the look of the thing, and shuffles quickly to his coat and scarf, then moves to squeeze past them.</p><p>Hamid, gods save him, notices him and jumps out of the way—</p><p>—just as the woman throws her drink at Hamid’s face.</p><p>Zolf stands there for a moment, frozen. The drink is dripping into his beard. It’s saturated the front of his shirt.</p><p>Finally Hamid squeaks out, “Mr. Smith—I’m so sorry—”</p><p>
  <em>Nope.</em>
</p><p>Zolf is out the door as quick as his prosthesis will allow.</p><p>He’ll hail a cab, get home, do a quick cleaning spell, pick up <em>When Passions Collide</em>, and with any luck, forget this night ever happened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The second time they meet, it’s in a bookstore in winter, Hamid on his way in, Zolf on his way out. Hamid, it turns out, is the sort of person who bundles himself in at least four layers of clothing during the cold months.</p>
<p>Zolf discovers this when he bumps into Hamid holding a to-go cup of lukewarm coffee and spills almost the entire contents down Hamid’s neck.</p>
<p>He's busy thinking up a curse, seeing as how the rest of the contents have splashed onto his shirt, when he sees Hamid's face. The man looks like he's about to burst into tears, and Zolf bites back a tirade of irritation. As annoying as he was at the party, Zolf can’t help but feel guilty for drenching him in the remains of a flat white, when he already looks so miserable.</p>
<p>“Christ, I’m—sorry,” he says, trying to find a bin for the crushed cup and simultaneously looking for napkins to stuff into Hamid’s hands.</p>
<p>Hamid is entirely still, but breathing choked, humiliated breaths, the type of breaths someone takes when they've already had a terrible day and have just been handed the straw to break the camel’s back.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he eventually whispers and hurries past, in the direction of the bookstore’s one and only bathroom.</p>
<p>Zolf follows him—because he’s an idiot—stumbling over his apologies, because Hamid is clearly crying now and trying to hide it, badly. Zolf catches up to him just as the bathroom door slams. And because he just can’t leave it alone, he knocks.</p>
<p>“Go away.”</p>
<p>“Look—Hamid, I’m really sorry. I just—I know a cleaning spell; if you want to just pass me your things, I can cast it outside and come back.”</p>
<p>Zolf then feels a tall, broad, pink presence next to him. He turns to see Azu, the bookstore’s proprietor, standing there next to him, all 6’2” of her and fuchsia sweater vest.</p>
<p>“Everything OK?” she asks mildly.</p>
<p>She and Zolf normally get on. They’re both fans of Harrison Campbell and they have plenty to talk about, but Azu is clearly concerned about whatever is happening, and Zolf knows better than to underestimate that gentle manner. He’s seen Azu put herself between a patron and an antagonistic stranger and literally use her body to intimidate the man out of the store. That, and they’ve been to an axe-throwing bar together.</p>
<p>“I spilled my coffee on him, and I think—I don’t know. I think he’s having a bad day.”</p>
<p>Azu nods, then knocks as well. “Hamid?” she asks, “You all right?”</p>
<p>The door opens a crack then, and yep, Hamid’s mascara is running something awful.</p>
<p>“Is everything OK?” Azu asks, and Hamid nods at her, then looks at Zolf.</p>
<p>“You have a c-cleaning spell?”</p>
<p>So Azu goes and retrieves a sweatshirt that dwarfs Hamid in size, and steps into the stall to talk to him, and Zolf gets handed a bundle of clothing including a puffy ski jacket, a wool sweater, <em>another, </em>thinner wool sweater, and a tee-shirt.</p>
<p>He takes all of it out into the back alley and concentrates to remember what his mother taught him, and manages to get the worst of the coffee stains out. He tries his hardest to remember how to handle wool, then pauses at the last garment—a black tanktop with a firm, thick band of fabric across his chest.</p>
<p>Ah. Five layers, not four.</p>
<p>He makes sure he casts carefully and delicately for that one, to be safe.</p>
<p>When he returns to the bookstore, someone else is manning the info desk, and Azu and Hamid are sitting in the cozy, lofted corner of the café, Hamid swimming in Azu’s Team Aphro sweatshirt, both of them drinking cups of tea. Hamid has (mostly) cleaned the mascara off his face, and looks a sight calmer than he did a few minutes ago.</p>
<p>“Uh—here. I think I got most of it,” Zolf says.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Hamid says quietly, taking the bundle of clothes.</p>
<p>It’s strange to see him like this, after the party. His makeup had been on point, his suit sharper than anything Zolf could ever hope to own, and his manner—that easy, polite, life-of-the-party way of interacting with everyone—had only served to fuel the fire once he'd made his gaffe about Campbell.</p>
<p>Now Hamid is utterly subdued. He gives Azu a grateful hug and goes to change, giving Zolf a quiet nod as he does so.</p>
<p>“Thanks for helping with his clothes,” Azu tells him.</p>
<p>“Least I could do. What, uh…”</p>
<p>Azu gives a sympathetic smile. “Like you said, bad day.”</p>
<p>Zolf nods. “Right. Well, uh…thank you for stepping in.”</p>
<p>He turns to leave, and Azu calls after him, “Zolf, your next coffee’s on the house.”</p>
<p>Zolf heads home with no earthly idea what just happened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Summer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The third time they meet is in the summer.</p><p>It’s becoming clearer and clearer that they have mutual friends, and that their friend group is becoming more and more connected.</p><p>Cel is barbecuing four different types of burgers: beef, mushroom, wild rice, and black bean, six with cheese, three without, and one that <em>will </em>have cheese after the grilling is done. They’re flipping the burgers expertly with a metal spatula, a look of glee on their face as they talk Zolf’s ear off about their alchemical research, something about using potions to change size at will.</p><p>Hamid approaches the grill with a wine glass in hand, wearing a long-sleeved button down and slacks, despite the heat. He’s about the only person Zolf knows who would show up to a summer barbecue in all but a full suit, though Zolf refrains from saying this out loud.</p><p>“Hey little buddy!” Cel exclaims.</p><p>Hamid smiles at them. “Hi Cel,” he replies. “Hi Zolf,” he adds, a bit more shyly.</p><p>“Do you have a burger on?” Cel asks, intently focused on one of the cheese-less beef burgers.</p><p>“Uh, no, not yet.”</p><p>“What’ll it be? Got beef, mushroom, black bean, or wild rice, although we’re kind of low on the beef and the wild rice; the wild rice is a mayonnaise bomb the likes of which you’ve never seen, my friend. Although these are not getting done nearly as quickly as I thought…”</p><p>Cel frowns and shuts the lid of the grill for a moment, then fiddles with the dials.</p><p>“Um—a mushroom burger sounds lovely,” Hamid says while Cel is distracted.</p><p>“Uh-huh—yep! Sounds good!” Cel pokes at a dial with a frown of dissatisfaction.</p><p>Hamid turns to Zolf then, and he looks like he’s going to <em>say </em>something, but before he can, Cel pipes up again.</p><p>“Hey uh, can someone hand me the thing? Oh—the, uh—the clickey burney pointy thing? It’s a lovely shade of turquoise.”</p><p>“The lighter?” Zolf asks.</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>He and Hamid exchange a glance, and Hamid looks amused, like Zolf has just told a particularly funny joke. There’s something nice about that, even though they hardly know each other.</p><p>Zolf doesn’t think too hard about that in the moment, though. He hands Cel the turquoise lighter and Cel sticks it through the little hole to access the pilot light and clicks the spark—</p><p>—And a column of fire bursts from the grill.</p><p>The burgers are aflame, the cheese has turned to bubbling, melty lava, and the air <em>reeks </em>of butane.</p><p>Zolf and Hamid move at the same time, Zolf to conjure a jet of water to quench the flame and Hamid, Zolf later learns, to manipulate the oxygen around the small explosion and starve the fire.</p><p>The result is a wave of smoky water splashing back and drenching all three of them, though luckily putting out the flame.</p><p>When all is said and done, the only true casualties are the last of the wild rice burgers, Hamid’s chardonnay, and Cel’s eyebrows.</p><p>(“I’m OK, it’s happened to me <em>loads </em>of times!” Cel calls over their shoulder while being led away for first aid by a concerned and chiding Azu.)</p><p>Cel’s friend Jasper takes over, rolling his eyes and signing something that Zolf has since come to understand means “Dork.”</p><p>Which leaves Hamid and Zolf in roughly the same position they were in the last time they met, except Zolf is standing outside of Azu’s bathroom, handing Hamid his newly clean shirt and khaki’s through the crack in the door, and Hamid doesn’t sound like he’s just received terrible news.</p><p>“How long have you known Cel?” he asks through the door.</p><p>“Only a few months. I met them through Azu,” Zolf replies, leaning against the wall.</p><p>“They’re something, aren’t they.”</p><p>Zolf laughs. “Yeah. Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t the first time I’d seen them blow something up?”</p><p>“Yes. But you should tell me about it anyways.”</p><p>Zolf shuffles in his soaked, smoky tee-shirt and shorts. “Maybe once I’m all cleaned up.”</p><p>“Oh! Of course, I’m sorry—”</p><p>“No—that wasn’t like a ‘hurry up,’ sort of—”</p><p>But Hamid is already stepping through the door, pristine as always, but halfway through applying a layer of mascara.</p><p>“I’m really OK, Hamid, I can wait—”</p><p>“I have a mirror. Go change.”</p><p>Lightning-quick, he whips out a brass pocket mirror and ushers Zolf into the bathroom.</p><p>Like much of Azu’s home, the bathroom is a pleasant pink, with gold accents. Zolf casts his cleaning spells over the bathtub, watching the grimy soot—and a great deal more dust than he’s entirely prepared to admit, seep out of his shirt and shorts.</p><p>“I met Cel sometime last year, at the university,” comes Hamid’s voice through the door. “But I found out they knew Azu later. They actually gave me a lot of good advice about transitioning. Did you know they design custom binders?”</p><p>Something clicks in Zolf’s mind, about cleaning a black tank top with a compressive band of fabric across the chest, in the snow-filled alley behind a bookstore.</p><p>“I didn’t,” he calls back. “That’s cool, though.”</p><p>Hamid laughs again. “Well—they’re somewhat more over-the-top than otherwise necessary. They tried to offer me one with a bunch of pockets for lab equipment, and one that I think was solar powered and could charge a phone if you were out and about all day.”</p><p>“Good for hiking. Or a day at the beach, maybe?”</p><p>“Well—yes, if you’re braver than me.”</p><p>Satisfied with the state of his clothes, Zolf re-dresses and steps out into the hall.</p><p>“I dunno. You did insult the honor of Harrison Cambell the first time we met,” he says, trying to be playful.</p><p>It’s a bit of a gamble. Zolf has had his time to be angry about that, and it doesn’t sting like it did that first night they met—but it feels like they need to clear the air.  </p><p>Hamid is fully made up now. Zolf can see the barest hint of bronze contouring along his cheekbones, as he looks at Zolf, abashed.</p><p>“I apologize, Zolf. What I said—it was unkind. Mr. Cambell’s works aren’t for me, but that was no excuse for me to be so rude.”</p><p>Hamid’s expression is serious, and looking back Zolf can see the exchange for what it was—a slip of the tongue, a misunderstanding, a difference of opinion poorly expressed. Hamid isn’t groveling, but it’s clear he’s hoping for forgiveness. And Zolf finds he wants to forgive.</p><p>“Water under the bridge, eh?” he asks, patting Hamid’s shoulder.</p><p>Hamid smiles. He seems to stand up a little straighter too.</p><p>Zolf can’t help himself. “Might even convince you that <em>In the Passion of the Sun </em>is the greatest romance novel of all time,” he says with a grin.</p><p>“I don’t know about that,” Hamid says, neatly picking up his cue, “I’m fairly certain that <em>Les Liaisons Dangereuses </em>is the greatest romance novel of all time.”</p><p>The argument continues, good-naturedly, as they make their way back out onto the patio.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Autumn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fourth time they meet isn’t actually the fourth time they meet.</p>
<p>Through the summer as their friend circles merge, they see each other again, another few times in passing at the bookstore, and once or twice at friend gatherings—a potluck here, a bonfire there.</p>
<p>But this is the fourth time they actually talk.</p>
<p>It’s Halloween, and they’re at Grizzop and Sasha’s. God only knows how they got Grizzop and Sasha to host, and true to form, Sasha is nowhere to be seen, sneaking around in the shadows of the rooftop patio while everyone else mingles.</p>
<p>Zolf isn’t 100% sure how he got talked into the costume he’s in currently. Something Azu said about how Harrison Cambell was a genius, a little too far into a glass of wine at their monthly <strike>Harrison Cambell</strike> romance book club.</p>
<p>He’s gotten a few more compliments than he expected on his pirate costume, loosely inspired by Captain Bareris in <em>In the Eye of Your Love</em>. The tricorder hat was found in a thrift shop down the road, and the scarf serving as a belt was lent to him courtesy of Azu. The shirt is unbuttoned further than he’d normally be comfortable with, even if it is Halloween, and the chill in the night air is not helping.</p>
<p>It’s been a bit of a long day for social interaction, if he’s completely honest with himself, so he’s hanging back and eating far too much guacamole and chips, when a figure in a back catsuit trips into him, dumping a glass of something cold, green and sticky directly into his chest.</p>
<p>“Oh no, oh no, I’m so sorry—”</p>
<p>If the voice isn’t a giveaway, the eyeliner and the stricken expression certainly is.</p>
<p>“Hamid,” Zolf says, amused. “We must stop meeting like this.”</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Zolf, let me—” Hamid is flustered, looking for a table to put his now empty cup down and not finding one.</p>
<p>“No—Hamid—it’s—” he reaches out to take the cup. “—cleaning spells, remember?”</p>
<p>“I know, it’s just—this is the sugary punch and it’ll be such a pain to clean up…”</p>
<p>A figure melts out of the shadows next to them, and both of them startle this time, although Zolf does <em>not </em>drop the empty punch up, or the remains of his guac.</p>
<p>Without breaking eye contact, Sasha takes the dishes from Zolf’s hands and says, “Bathroom’s the second door on the right,” then melts back into the shadows again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Where Azu and Cel’s bathroom is pink and gold and stocked with scented candles and nice-smelling soap, Sasha and Grizzop’s is far more functional. Everything is neatly labeled, from the plastic bin of hand towels to the cabinet full of first aid supplies, to the wall rack with Sasha and Grizzop’s respective toiletries and the twin sets of clippers on the shelf.</p>
<p>They’ve left the door open this time, as Zolf has changed into an old sweatshirt. (It was getting a little too cold for Harrison Cambell, anyways). Hamid is sitting on the lip of the bathtub while Zolf does his best to get the sugar residue out of the shirt.</p>
<p>“Catwoman?” Zolf asks, glancing at Hamid’s nylon outfit.</p>
<p>Even in the harsh, fluorescent overhead light of the bathroom, it doesn’t look like something purchased at a costume store. It’s a nicer fabric, possibly tailored. Hamid could certainly afford it if he wanted to.</p>
<p>“Sorry? Oh—no, Black Widow,” Hamid replies, gesturing to the belt around his waist, which on closer inspection has a small, angular, red hourglass.</p>
<p>“Ah, nice.”</p>
<p>“And yours is from…” Hamid trails off.</p>
<p>“<em>In the Eye of Your Love,</em>” Zolf answers, “The, uh, pirate captain.”</p>
<p>“Very dashing,” Hamid says, then seems to freeze up a bit when Zolf glances at him in surprise.</p>
<p>“Uh—thanks.” Zolf breaks eye contact quickly, unsure what to say next.</p>
<p>
  <em>Your costume is dashing too?</em>
</p>
<p>Would that come across as rude, somehow?</p>
<p>What if what he thinks is happening isn’t <em>actually</em> happening, and he’s wildly misinterpreting what this is?</p>
<p>What <em>is </em>actually happening?</p>
<p>He’s saved from having to come up with a response, because Hamid speaks up again, shuffling his feet on the forest green bathmat.</p>
<p>“Um. Zolf. I have a question, and—absolutely say no if you’re not interested—but I was maybe wondering if you’d like to get a coffee? Sometime? With me?”</p>
<p>Zolf manages to get the last of the sugar crystals out of the pirate shirt and watches them swirl down the drain in a trickle of lime green.</p>
<p>So apparently what he thinks is happening <em>is </em>actually happening, and—words—and coffee—and Hamid wants to go on a date. With him.</p>
<p>He can feel his face starting to burn. When it comes to flirting of any kind, he’s always felt like the rest of the world got a playbook that he somehow missed out on. Some part of his brain where the script for romantic entanglements should be is instead full of soup recipes, sailing expertise, and extensive Harrison Cambell lore.</p>
<p>(He tries to remember the last time he was on a date. Then he tries to remember the last time he was on a date that he actually wanted to be on.)</p>
<p>Something in his brain snaps him out if it, though. It might be the realization that he’s been dead silent for about ten seconds, and he needs to actually <em>answer </em>Hamid if anything is going to come of this.</p>
<p>When he returns to the real world, he can see Hamid is suspended in awkward tension like a bug in amber, something—an apology—a disclaimer—on the tip of his tongue.</p>
<p>“Sure,” He says, trying to sound lighthearted about it.</p>
<p>Now he realizes that Hamid was literally holding his breath, because the fabric of his outfit crinkles as he lets out a sigh. “Really?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I would like that.”</p>
<p>Hamid lets out a nervous laugh. “You were so quiet; I thought maybe I’d offended you.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m not—no. I wouldn’t be offended.”</p>
<p>Before Zolf can start blabbering about how he wouldn’t have been offended even if he <em>wasn’t </em>interested, and the importance of open communication and how he’s working on that a lot, a voice comes from the hallway.</p>
<p>“Finally!”</p>
<p>Grizzop is standing there, dressed like an Artemisian hunter, a shortbow slung over his shoulders and an exasperated look on his face. “Could you two lovebirds <em>please </em>vacate the bathroom? Some of us have business to attend to.”</p>
<p>Stumbling over their apologies, Zolf and Hamid get out of the way while Grizzop hustles in and shuts the door.</p>
<p>“Um. I think I’d quite like a cup of tea. Would you?” asks Hamid.</p>
<p>“As long as you don’t spill it on me.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>They ultimately decide not to have coffee at the bookstore. Not just because they’ve both spent so much time and it’d be nice to try out somewhere new, but also because Azu has been buzzing with so much restrained excitement that it might be worth finding somewhere where they’re a little more anonymous.</p>
<p>After a bit of back and forth about location, accessibility, and most importantly, snacks, they settle on a place by the river that Cel recommends.</p>
<p>(“Get the spicy hummus! Or—well—don’t, it’ll burn your taste buds off. But it’s <em>so </em>worth it!”)</p>
<p>They do not get the spicy hummus.</p>
<p>What they do get is a small table by the window to ward off the chill from the rain pattering against the window outside. Chai for Hamid, flat white for Zolf, and a plate of tofu fries and sweet chili dip between them.</p>
<p>The conversation weaves and winds around, and Zolf learns about Hamid’s sisters, Aziza and Saira, and how they taught him to a perfect cat-eye. How Aziza is an opera singer and Saira works in government.</p>
<p>Zolf tells Hamid about his brother Feryn, and how he was the only one who supported Zolf signing on as a sailor and leaving Herefordshire.</p>
<p>They manage a civil—if playful—conversation about Harrison Cambell and the romance genre at large, which morphs into a discussion about comfort and food, and how much Zolf loves to cook and how much Hamid loves to eat.</p>
<p>Which morphs into them getting more food, of course, and hot tea, and eventually they <em>do </em>try the spicy hummus, and it does nearly burn off their tastebuds.</p>
<p>Hamid, eyes streaming, asks the server for a pitcher of water while Zolf has a coughing fit.</p>
<p>“I am so sorry—”</p>
<p>“No, no—I went along with it.”</p>
<p>“I know, but it’s Cel and I should’ve known better. They carry around ghost pepper sauce in their belt.”</p>
<p>“What’s a ghost pepper?”</p>
<p>“It’s one of those ones that’s like…really high on the pepper scale or something—”</p>
<p>Eyes streaming, Hamid sees the server coming over Zolf’s shoulder as he fans Zolf ineffectively with a napkin, starting to giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation.</p>
<p>He sees what happens next as if in slow motion:</p>
<p>Another customer pushing her chair back into the narrow aisle. The server, hurrying, looking at Zolf having his coughing fit. The pitcher of water, trembling in the server’s hands.</p>
<p>Hamid feels his legs rise of their own accord, hears the warning leave his mouth. “<em>Waaaaatch oooouuuuuuuuut…”</em></p>
<p>The pointed toe of the server’s boot catches on the chair leg. The pitcher flies forward, its contents propelled by the force.</p>
<p>Half a second later, Zolf freezes in the middle of his coughing fit, his hair suddenly a wet mop.</p>
<p>In the ensuing five seconds of silence, Hamid can hear nothing but the drip-drip-drip of water from Zolf’s beard onto the table.</p>
<p>They never do learn what the server makes of them: two people on a date, dripping wet, faces burning, crying from spice and howling with laughter for the entire café to hear.</p>
<p>All Hamid knows is that when the second pitcher of water comes around, someone brings a towel with it. That, and he tips very well.</p>
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